


Phosphene Epoch

by merulanoir



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Character, BDSM, M/M, Spymaster Daud AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29181465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: Corvo sighs and then very slowly lays his hand over my side. The wound stings a little, and I wonder if he wants my blood on his hands.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Daud
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Phosphene Epoch

**Author's Note:**

> My original plan for this was to write a two-part fic with the following keywords: sex-repulsed ace Daud, bdsm, Corvo being Corvo.
> 
> Now this is my distraction sandbox while I write the massive slowburn royal ot3 fic, so anything is possible.

The paper is speckled with moisture; the sides curl inwards almost like they want to hide the words. I know that feeling quite well.

_ I woke up to a sore windpipe. Waking up at all was unexpected, and seeing Corvo Attano just sitting there even more so. He had taken off that damn mask, and he looked just as dead on his feet as when I told Thomas and Rulfio to toss him into that shithole. He was just sitting there, staring at me, and holding this very book. _

_ I don’t remember who told me that keeping records (or a diary) would land me in trouble, but I guess they were right in the end. Attano had read all my notes while I was out, and he had a lot of questions. About Burrows and the schemes that landed him here. But also about Delilah fucking Copperspoon. I should never have written that story down. He’d even listened to all the audiographs I made. _

_ That was earlier today. He’s sleeping right now. Sleeping. Here. I know he will wake up the second someone coughs, but still. I could shoot him in the back of his head and be done with him. _

_ Instead I’m going to Kingsparrow Island with him. _

I close the diary. It’s about halfway finished, but I never returned to it. I keep my notes in another book nowadays, but I never got around to burning the old ones. They collect dust behind a false panel in the back of my office, and I know for a fact that Attano has gone through them a few times after life went on. I could’ve said something, but if anyone is entitled to that crap it’s him. Him and that little girl whose life I tore apart and whom everyone now calls Empress.

A knock on the door yanks me out of my moody reverie. I hastily stuff the diary back into its hiding place and click the panel closed, and when I turn around the door is cracked open and Attano is looking at me with a raised eyebrow. He’s the only person in the Dunwall Tower who makes a point of entering my office without waiting for an answer. Everybody else treats me like a caged beast. I’m not sure which irks me more.

“Busy?” Attano looks tired but then, he always does. For all the talk of naming me the Royal Spymaster he is still intent on sticking his nose in about a hundred places too many. Can’t fault him, really. In his shoes, I would’ve probably died of an ulcer by now.

“Not particularly,” I lie as I step to my desk and gesture at the stack of papers. “I have the reports for you.”

Attano’s eyes narrow. “About the Boyles?”

“There’s not much anything happening, truth be told.” I shift through the papers until I find the right one. “Waverly Boyle is still—missing.” I stumble only slightly over the words, but the effect is immediate; Attano’s face closes off and he looks away. I have been meaning to talk to him about giving too much away. As Jessamine Kaldwin’s bodyguard he got used to keeping his face straight and unemotive, but that doesn’t work for being the de facto Lord Regent. He’s careened straight into the opposite end of showing too much.

I clear my throat and finally he meets my eyes again. “Esma and Lydia Boyle have not made any moves to locate her. The rumor is that they have been arguing. Several servants have been dismissed without due cause.”

Attano sneers, but his heart isn’t in it. “Since when do you care about the common folk?”

My first instinct is to quip back, but I settle for rolling my eyes. The movement pulls at the scar, and nerve pain tingles down my neck and jaw. “You should, too. The kind of information you’re after doesn’t come from official sources.”

“But it comes from blackmail and thievery?” 

Something is up. Corvo is by habit taciturn with me, but now he’s watching me closely for a reaction. 

“Are you trying to rile me up?” I ask before I manage to reel the words back in. “Because if so, you need to know that a teenage Whaler could do a better job.” 

He flinches, another tell that is unacceptable for a man in his position. Then he squares up, looming over me even when there is a desk between us. 

“Stop playing,” he bites out, eyes dark and angry. “You’re not an assassin any longer.”

And there’s the problem.

After Kingsparrow, after I made sure Farley Havelock had an unfortunate accident, and after I fucked off as quickly as my transversals would carry me, I thought we were done. Not  _ even _ by any means, because some debts are not meant to be paid; I thought I was free to go, because Corvo had enough on his cracked plate. When I got back to Rudshore with the few people I trusted enough to help me save the empress, everyone who was left were waiting for me in my office. There weren’t many, truth be told. 

After I let Billie go, the few who had agreed with her left. I severed their Arcane Bonds as I found out and tried to move on to figure out how to deal with Delilah. After that a few more wandered off, and then Attano floated down the river half-dead and betrayed by his so-called Loyalists. Thomas and a few others looked at me like I had a death wish when I ordered them to toss him into a hole that even a normal person with no Void powers could have escaped. 

I did have a death wish, sort of. Attano just refused to grant it, and instead I ended up helping him. I shot Farley Havelock in the face with a hardened bolt, and something made him push Emily Kaldwin towards me and Attano as he fell from the top of the lighthouse. Attano wanted to bring him in alive. I knew that wasn’t going to happen, because if there’s something I recognize it’s the look of a man who’s reached the end of his rope and is preparing to jump.

Afterwards, there were just ten of us left, and even they demanded answers. Saving the empress from a witch was one thing, but joining forces with Corvo Attano apparently crossed a line; Thomas actually yelled at me, and that shocked the rest of the Whalers just as much as it did me. I took it because I deserved it, and told them to start packing.

And then Attano came back.

When I don’t answer, Attano circles the desk and actually pokes a finger at my chest. He’s half a head taller than me, and I despise his habit of crowding me in when he wants something he thinks I’m not willing to give. He doesn’t fear me, and that I could deal with. It’s the understanding I can’t stomach.

“Daud,” he hisses, “what have you been doing?”

The suspicion in his voice isn’t what breaks me free from my momentary stupor. There’s a hint of something like betrayal buried under the frustration.

“Nothing,” I spit out. It is and isn’t a lie, and somewhere along the line Corvo Attano has learned to read me well enough to clue in.

“Daud,” he says again, as if repeating my name will make me suddenly roll over and capitulate. “I told you, a hundred  _ fucking  _ times, that—”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” I cut in, voice snapping like I’m scolding a teenager. Attano blinks, mouth cracked open. “And I didn’t order anyone killed, since that’s what you’re worried about,” I add, as an afterthought. 

“So what  _ did _ you do?” He looks so suspicious it would be hilarious if the small part of my psyche that still thinks I qualify as a human being wasn’t howling in alarm.

Attano found me again. He barged in less than a week after Emily Kaldwin was crowned, and told me in no uncertain terms that I had to follow him to the Tower. My death wish had had a chance to cool somewhat, and when he realized I was reaching for my wristbow he actually barked a laugh.

“I’m not here to fight you, Daud,” he said. He wasn’t even holding his sword, stupid git. “I have an offer for you.”

So I followed him, and sat through the most uncomfortable three hours of my life, including the time Sokolov painted my portrait. Emily Kaldwin looked at me with the kind of hatred only a child could have. I met her glistening gaze steadily and felt awful, if I was honest with myself. On Corvo’s orders, I recounted the events that had led to me and my gang helping her Royal Protector. I told them all about Delilah Copperspoon, but downplayed my motives. Everyone but Corvo seemed to believe I had viewed her as a rival.

The other people present all knew who I was, and they all knew why I was there before I did. There was a City Watch officer I didn’t recognize, but his uniform looked so new and stiff I suspected he was someone who was still reeling after a hasty promotion. Sokolov, that fucking unkillable asshat, was there too. For a brief moment I entertained the wish that I had just stayed at the Academy; apparently turning your coat every three weeks was acceptable if you were also a genius.

I have never been a genius. When Attano asked, no, told me I was to become the crown’s next spymaster, I actually thought it was his idea of a joke. There was a silence so tense I thought someone (possibly me) would snap, and then—

“Master Daud.” It was the girl. I looked at her, and she glared back. She was tall for her age, but still a child. When she stood up, her head barely reached my shoulder.

“Corvo told me about you.” Her voice was steady, and it was easy to see she was battling the urge to stick a monogrammed letter knife between my ribs. “He told me you personally didn’t want my mother killed. Is that true?”

I stared at her. “With all due respect, your majesty, I’m an assassin. It’s what I do. Personal feelings rarely account for anything.”

Except, except. Emily Kaldwin looked at me and then to her father. “Corvo told me you regret it.”

And because I’m not only a fool but apparently also  _ do  _ regret what I did, I accepted the offer that wasn’t an offer. It was an order, and later Attano filled me in on his reasons. 

“You’ve been here, in Dunwall, for even longer than I have,” he said as he closed the door to his personal study. “You know the underworld, and because there’s still some shred of honor in you, you won’t betray Emily.”

I stared at him, but by then my patience was wearing thin. For a few moments I tried to avoid blowing up, but then I sort of hoped that witnessing the extents of my charm might make Attano reconsider.

“I’m not a bleeding noble! I was born to a herbalist and a pirate and raised as a killer! How the fuck do you think I’m supposed to serve the crown?” I don’t think I exactly yelled at him, but I definitely raised my voice. I expected to find the folding sword at my jugular, but instead Attano just looked at me. He looked like he was coming apart at the seams.

“You’re just about the last person I want to work with,” he finally amended. “But you know what? If I don’t get to walk away from this mess, then neither do you.” With that, he turned his back on me and fumbled open a cabinet. “Old Dunwall?”

“I don’t drink,” I snapped, fuming. “What do you think will happen when you present me to the court? The upper crust knows my face. They know who I am and what I do. This won’t fly.”

Corvo poured himself half a finger of whiskey before facing me again. “It will work,” he said in a low voice. “Because we are not asking. We will simply  _ tell  _ them you’re now serving as the new spymaster. We offer no explanation, and you will keep your mouth shut about any reasons why you suddenly work for the crown.”

Against my will, I was impressed. I hadn’t thought Attano was capable of such strategizing. 

“The whole point is them knowing who you are. They know you killed Jessamine,” his voice cracked there, but he never looked away, “and they will draw their own conclusions.”

“They will assume I had a change of heart,” I said flatly. Attano regarded me quietly.

“Didn’t you?”

I wanted to deny it, but my anger was deflating. Corvo had read through all my notes. He’d seen first-hand the records of how taking that ill-fated contract had also destroyed my life. I just deserved the fallout. This wasn’t a punishment so much as...nothing.

“What’s your game?” I asked. Attano cocked his head, the tumbler empty. “Why would you want to look at my face every day? Why would you want to work with me after what I did?”

Attano sighed and rubbed his face. I could see that he was rapidly losing his patience with me. A petty part of my brain ticked off a point for me.

“Because blaming you would be like blaming a rat for spreading the Plague,” gritted out. He set the glass down and stalked closer. “Hiram Burrows brought the sickness into Dunwall. Burrows set in motion the coup,  _ Burrows _ had Jessamine killed. If you hadn’t accepted the contract, someone else would have. You’re not as important as you think.” He finished with actually grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. 

“Do I hate seeing you? Yes,” he went on. “I hate that you live and Jess doesn’t, but you were just the tool Burrows used. And you’re a tool that I can use now.”

“I lied to you.” My words come out quieter than I mean, and that makes me sound...I don’t even know. It’s still a genuine feeling that wells up when Corvo’s eyes widen and he forces himself not to recoil. He’s standing too close for comfort, I have to crane my head back to hold his gaze, and I think I might hate myself a little.

“You lied.” Corvo’s voice comes out empty. His face closes off, and I see him rapidly cycle through his options; kill me right away, force the truth out and then kill me, withdraw whatever protection the crown offers and jail me.

“I never disbanded the Whalers,” I say, and I have no idea why I do it. 

The silence that falls is heavy enough to suffocate. Corvo is frozen, one hand curled against his chest, close enough to brush against me, and he actually looks betrayed.

His first and frankly only definite order was to kick everyone else out.

“I don’t want them,” he said back then, after we were done shouting at each other. “I can’t trust them. I have no time or resources to vet them. See to it.”

And I did. For about three months.

It became abundantly clear that both Corvo and I had overestimated how good I was. Corvo did it because some part of him desperately needed to believe in the fable that was Daud of the Whalers. He needed me to be a legendary assassin who could just as easily be a legendary spymaster. But having always worked alone, Corvo didn’t account for the fact that I was Daud _of the Whalers._ Still am. 

Without my friends (because that’s what the remaining few were) I was crippled. I couldn’t go out and collect the intel myself, and the crown’s own spies weren’t good enough. I didn’t even think about giving them the Bond, because Corvo would have cut off both of my hands. So I struggled and hated every damn minute, until I missed a major gang deal going down and folded.

The Arcane Bond is weird. I think that even the black-eyed bastard didn’t foresee it becoming real, because none of the other marked ones I’ve met have anything quite like it. It’s a mutual agreement but I hold the strings, so to speak. When it became clear that I couldn’t do my job as a royal goddamn spy, I very carefully nudged the place where the Bonds used to be. Thomas was the only one who answered me right away, and within a few weeks I had some of them back and working for me. Life became—not easier, but manageable. If Corvo ever noticed that suddenly I could actually meet the exacting standards, he never commented on it.

Over the two years I’ve only had to sever the Bond once. The Whalers are dead in all ways that matter, but the fact is that there are still six people with the Arcane Bond, and without them I would not only no longer be a spymaster; I would also be unbearably lonely.

“What?” Corvo finally croaks out. He shakes his head like a hound and tries again: “What the fuck?”

“It’s how I do this damn job.” I make a vague gesture to indicate my office. “The crown’s own spies are good and useful, but sometimes I need—”

“An assassin,” Corvo finishes for me. His face shifts from the weird betrayed surprise to anger so quickly I miss the punch coming. He hits me right in my left eye. Because of the proximity, there’s not much force behind it, but it’s enough to hurt like a bitch. 

Unfortunately my instincts kick in before I even have time to think about it. I transverse and drag Corvo with me, and slam him against the opposite wall hard enough to rattle the frame of whatever nondescript aquarelle painting the staff hung there. When I realize what I’m doing it’s too late: my forearm is crushing Corvo’s windpipe and there’s the cold press of a sword against my side. 

“I’m not having anyone killed,” I grind out because that’s the only thing I really want to say if Corvo decides to off me. “But they’re people I can trust, and they’re working for me even after all this shit.” With that, I finally ease off the pressure. Corvo sucks in a reedy gasp and his sword presses more acutely against my skin. He keeps the blade ridiculously sharp, and it has torn through my shirt without any effort.

I wait for him to lash out, but instead he goes completely still. I feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, and I don’t dare to make any more movements. My life is again in Corvo’s hands, and now there are no more big looming secrets between us. I had considered telling him at some point, but not like this.

“Why?” he finally asks. I cock my head and frown. The blade grazes my side again.

“Why what, Attano?”

“Why did you tell me?” 

I pause. Corvo must notice my confusion, because he screws his eyes shut and forces out a tense breath. The blade withdraws and clicks shut. “I can’t know this, Daud. I’ve had my suspicions, but… As long as I didn’t know, I didn’t have to—”

“Take care of them,” I finish for him. My voice is cold, but there’s also a thin strand of disappointment. It takes me by surprise, because I sure as Void don’t consider Corvo a friend; we can’t be friends, not with our shared history, but over the past two years we have been forced to live in each others’ pockets, and somehow that has translated itself into—

“No!” Corvo pushes me back but doesn’t let go. He looks furious as he shakes me like he can make truths spill out like that. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean, Corvo?” I’m angry now, and it’s a much safer option. I lean into the forced proximity, and while I may be shorter I’m much heavier; forcing Corvo back is almost trivial. “What do you want me to say? I can’t do what you ask of me without them. I can’t protect your daughter if I don’t do this job my way! It’s the only way I know things will get done right!”

It sounds hollow in my own ears, and the fight leaves me when Corvo doesn’t answer. We stare at each other over the minimal distance separating us, and I know this isn’t just about the Whalers. This is about Corvo asking me to become spymaster and then forcing the issue when I refused. This is about Corvo hating the idea that he trapped me here like he was trapped in Dunwall all those years ago; maybe he even hoped that my story would take a fortunate turn. That I’d grow to like it in the Tower, change my ways, become someone he could hope to forgive. I know this, because in certain ways we’re very much like each other. Maybe it’s one part our shared origins, one part sheer stupid hope.

Corvo Attano, for all his faults, is a good man to his core. And good men don’t like extorting others, even if they’re irredeemable assholes like me.

I let go of him. My anger is gone, and the room feels colder. The wound on my side is bleeding sluggishly, and I don’t even bother to inspect it. 

“You can’t forget who I am, Corvo.” I turn towards my desk so I don’t have to look at him. “That’s how you end up in trouble. That’s how people get killed.”

It begins to rain. I look at the window and silently curse this miserable rock of a nation. I hate rain and I hate Dunwall, and right now hating something I can’t change is preferable to addressing any of this mess I created.

I haven’t been spying on Corvo’s private things, per se. He doesn’t keep a journal or record audiograph notes like I do to collect my thoughts. I have just been watching him for two years, because that’s what I do best, and what I see is profoundly confusing. He’s the most powerful man in the empire, and he invited the man who killed his lover into the Tower. If he had been treating me with outright disdain it would have made sense, but no.

During these two years, Corvo has gradually started to open up. Not obviously, but he occasionally bullies me into sparring with him, or insists we take our lunches together to talk about whatever courtly trouble is bugging him that week. He called me a tool Burrows was using, but for all his words he never could bring himself to treat me like one.

“You said you don’t kill.”

I almost miss it when he finally speaks. I don’t turn but my shoulders grow stiff, and then freeze into solid blocks of ice when he steps closer and touches me. His hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes, and I close my eyes because this is too much.

“And you trusted that?” I ask. I have been saying it for two years, insisting on nonlethal methods with both the remaining Whalers and the crown spies. I just never thought the promise would hold in the long run. 

“You don’t want me to,” Corvo says. He doesn’t let go. “You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to kill, you don’t want to let your friends go.” I flinch at the words “friends,” all but confirming his accusations. Corvo shuffles his feet behind me and then he’s holding me by the shoulders. I don’t have a clue why this is happening, but things have reached a breaking point.

“I forgave you, you know.” He whispers it, holding on to me like he fears I will escape if he isn’t touching me. “I didn’t want to,” he adds, almost like an afterthought, “it felt too soon to ever do it. Emily would never forgive  _ me _ if she knew.”

I keep my eyes closed because my head is suddenly getting dizzy. There’s a dull, grinding sound taking over my head as my brain howls in denial and horror. I didn’t want to let Corvo any closer than absolutely necessary, because I didn’t want to address any of this. But he has been reading my diaries and notes ever since I moved into the Tower, and I have kept writing them. To atone, or maybe just to expose what a fuck-up I am as a human.

I don’t want to be forgiven. I want to keep being reminded of what I did, because that is the only way I can do better. I never deny or hide what I did, not even when it’s just some uptight noble making snide remarks about the Royal Protector’s lapdog, and I would give anything to shove my blade through their head. The truth is, if I do my job properly people will eventually forget my past, because that’s what people not directly affected do. 

I don’t want Corvo or Emily to forgive me, because if they do, then  _ I _ will forget. Living like this isn’t a good life, but it’s still preferable to what I used to be. Living in the Tower and working with Corvo is awful, because he reminds me of what I could have become. It’s the only way I can atone, by being constantly aware of who he is and who I am not.

“Daud.” Corvo’s voice is heavier now. He has watched me for two years. He has read all of this written by my own hand, and I know he’s thinking about it now. Only Corvo thinks I’m wrong, because that’s who he is, at the end of the day. At some point he decided that he’d had enough of me being miserable.

I don’t move when Corvo worms himself between me and the desk. He’s regained the muscle mass he lost in Coldridge ages ago, but he’s naturally lanky. He fits into the small space. 

“Hey.” Now his tone is softer, and I almost turn away. Almost. I grit my teeth and stay put, because we have been dancing around this topic for half a year or more; Corvo wants to forgive me, and he wants me to stay at the Tower because he believes it’s a choice I can make. 

Anything besides that is like roiling fog. I mentally recoil from ever addressing it.

“Look at me.” It’s a request, but I have programmed myself to do what Corvo wants long ago. I meet his eyes, feeling exhausted. Corvo looks relieved. He touches my arm, leaning against the table so that our heights match.

“I know you won’t kill again. And I know you keep the Whalers around because you have a reason.” His voice is still soft, and I want to hate him. My life would be so, so much easier if I could bring myself to hate Corvo Attano. He took away my life when he forced me to become his spymaster, only he didn’t kill anyone doing it. And he keeps me here, because he hopes that someday I will simply shed my old self and be a decent human.

When he touches my face I do flinch. Corvo doesn’t let go, but cups my scar with his bare hand. My heart is beating fast and hard, and I give up lying to myself that it doesn’t feel good when he touches me. He’s never done it like this, but tonight I showed him the side I kept hidden and he thinks it changes something. Maybe it does.

Corvo’s thumb brushes my cheekbone. He isn’t smiling, but the tension in him is uncoiling. He relaxes against me, and even as I remain stiff the space between us grows warm. 

“You did the right thing,” Corvo says. “I wouldn’t have been able to see it before, so keeping the Whalers hidden was the right call.”

“Before?” I ask. I should keep my mouth shut, because speaking means I feel the skin of Corvo’s hand shift against my face, and the touch fires off sparks of pleasure. 

“Before,” he says with a shrug and a wry smile. “Before I got to know you. Before I knew you could be trusted.”

“Don’t—” I begin, but Corvo actually covers my mouth with his hand. His eyes glint with relief.

“I trust you,” he says again, watching me closely as if he likes seeing what the words do to me. “It’s not something you get a say in, unless you’re planning on betraying us.”

He finally removes his hand. I know my mouth is hanging open, but I can’t find any words. In a way he’s making sense, even. I won’t betray them, and neither will my Whalers. We’re in this sink or swim.

Corvo studies my face for a long while. I can’t bring myself to move away, because a part of my mind that I have no control over has been terribly preoccupied with the way Corvo moves and talks and smiles; that part is overriding the much bigger section that tells this is one more way in which I have failed. That—feeling is as foreign as it is precious, even when I know I can’t bring myself to act on any of it. It’s entangled with the certainty that I will do whatever Corvo asks.

Suddenly his fingers brush against my face again. I blink fast but don’t move, and Corvo trails his fingertips over my scar, across my brows, and finally brushes against my lips. There are hot and cold shivers going through me, and Corvo’s eyes are frightening in their intensity.

“Am I doing this wrong?” he asks, quiet and breathless. I can’t manage anything but a weak shake of my head. He smiles at that, and something urgent and fierce punches through my chest. I know I should stop this, I should step back but all I can think of is how I would never dare to even try what Corvo is doing. I have watched him for two years, and I know Corvo is braver than I will ever be, and much too reckless.

Slowly, slowly, Corvo leans closer. When his nose brushes my chin I do recoil, and he stops, waits, and then tilts his head. I feel his breath against my throat, hot and damp where his mouth is cracked open, and when he takes my hand and places it against the back of his head my palm fits there like this is what it was made for. Even through my gloves I feel how hot Corvo runs, and I only realize my body is thawing when my lips brush his unruly, curly hair. 

It’s an awkward position, but neither of us moves. I breathe him in and hold him close, and while some part of me waits for a knife between the ribs I stay put. Corvo gradually relaxes and leans against me, and I shut my eyes. He smells of rain and gunpowder, mostly, he has been to the range today. His hair is a little damp under my cheek.

“Can I ask for something?” Corvo speaks the words softly against my skin, and I can’t suppress the shiver. I can’t stop breathing him in.

“Anything.”

I can’t see his face, but he smiles. I feel it, and finally my shoulders slump. My free hand slides up his arm and still on his shoulder. Corvo sighs and then very slowly lays his hand over my side. The wound stings a little, and I wonder if he wants my blood on his hands.

“I want to feel safe with you.”

We don’t talk more for a long while after that.


End file.
